


Worry About It Later

by junkster



Category: Arctic Monkeys
Genre: Anxiety, Hotel Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkster/pseuds/junkster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all the press stuff gets a bit much for Jamie. Sometimes he just needs someone to help take his mind away from it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worry About It Later

**Author's Note:**

> Title pinched from The Futureheads. 
> 
> _Worry about it later,  
>  We couldn't resist the risk._

Jamie’s got that tense, tight feeling in his chest by the time he shoves his way back into their hotel room, a familiar, heavy, suffocating sensation that makes him want to puke. He walks in and drops his head forwards against the nearest wall, pressing his hands flat against it, trying to even out his breathing as he listens to the snick of the door locking.

There’s quiet for a moment, blessed peace, then the thud of a pair of boots being pulled off. 

“What’s up, mate?” Nick asks softly, and it makes Jamie’s shoulders slump. It’s the first time anyone’s asked him that in ages.

Feeling steady enough to move, he turns around and leans back with a sigh, tucking his hands behind him, pressing his knuckles into the wallpaper.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head slightly, eyes on the floor. “Nothing.”

“Come on, tell us,” Nick encourages, sitting down on the end of one of the beds and watching him, head tilted. “You’re not coming down with that bug half the crew have got, are you?”

Jamie shakes his head again. “No, no. I’m alright. It’s just...all that shit today, ‘s’all.”

“The press stuff?” Nick guesses.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, they were a bit much, those last few, weren’t they?”

“They keep trying to force me to tell them things I don’t want to tell them about, you know? Like it’s their right to know. And they’re so fucking cocky.”

“Just glare at them, mate, that usually works.”

“But if I don’t talk I feel like a wanker for not helping you lot out with the questions,” Jamie says, frustrated and despondent.

“You shouldn’t, though. We all have quiet days, don’t we?”

“It must be annoying as fuck, though,” Jamie grumbles, bending down to tug the laces of his shoes free and toeing them off, then yanking off his socks and curling his toes into the carpet. He thumbs another button loose at the top of his shirt as he stands back up straight and sighs. “Sorry, mate. I just need to, y’know. Bury my head under a pillow for a while.” 

The truth is, he’s got better at interviews over the years, in some ways. He’s a bit more confident talking to people, now, but at the same time he’s less inclined to try and please them. The relief he feels when he gets out of those situations is what he imagines it must be like for Nick and Alex getting to have a crafty fag after hours without in the interview rooms.

Nick’s always been understanding about Jamie’s relief at solitude, and his desire to stay grounded. They’ve both always struggled a bit with strangers and interviews and being natural when they’re out of their comfort zone, although Nick’s skills in those areas have improved more than Jamie’s over the years.

Jamie looks at him now, sitting on the end of the bed with tired, sympathetic eyes. He wonders sometimes how Nick manages to find the energy to be as sympathetic as he is - Jamie finds it hard enough just dealing with his own emotions half the time, let alone everyone else’s. Not that he doesn’t worry about people; he does, he’s just not very good at letting them know about it, is all.

He puts his hands over his face for a moment, meaning just to rub his eyes but taken in by the darkness. He’s just musing on the fact that he really needs a shave when the darkness gets even darker and a hand comes down on his shoulder, and he drops his hands to find Nick right there, right in front of him, backing him up against the wall and looming close and warm. Jamie opens his mouth to speak and Nick presses a hand over his belly, and Jamie feels like all the air’s rushed out of his body, like he’s just taken a fist to the stomach instead. He drags a lungful back in and it’s ragged and juddering, his eyes closing as Nick presses a kiss to his temple.

“It’s okay, mate,” he mumbles against Jamie’s hairline. “You’re okay.”

Jamie buries his hands in the front of Nick’s hoodie and pulls him as close as he can.

“What d’you want to do?” Nick asks him softly, stroking the back of his neck, and it’s such a simple, easy question, but it makes Jamie’s brain freeze as though he’s trying to sabotage his own thoughts. “D’you want me to leave you alone for a bit?” 

“No,” he answers firmly, heart lurching desperately in his chest when Nick’s cheek presses against his, stubble rasping on stubble. “No. Mal, can you just...just - ”

Nick’s mouth saves him from stumbling any further, warm lips closing over his with a gentle, silencing pressure. Jamie shuts his eyes, just blocks out the world and concentrates solely on the sound of Nick breathing in through his nose, the hot swipe of his tongue across the tip of one of Jamie’s canines.

The hand at the back of his neck delves into his hair and tugs gently, then cradles the back of his skull like he’s something delicate. It makes something tug in Jamie’s chest, too, the ease with which Nick falls into this routine with him. And it is a routine, now. There’s no denying that now he’s lost count of the number of times. He still doesn’t even know whether Nick really enjoys it, or whether he’s just being the good mate he is, willing to do whatever it takes to help him out, but what Jamie does know is that Nick loves him, and that’s the most important thing. Nick loves all of them, would do anything for them, is genuinely one of the sweetest people Jamie’s ever known. 

The first time they’d done this it’d been because Jamie had freaked out about a marathon set of interviews and tv spots they had lined up for the next day, a panic attack crashing down around him with enough intensity to have him sat on the floor in the corner of the bathroom, arms over his head, on the brink of passing out. Nick had found him, talked him down that day, squatting there on the tiles next to him and stroking his hair without a hint of self-consciousness. When Jamie’s heart had eventually stopped slamming itself against his ribs, he’d finally seen the absolute concern in Nick’s wide eyes, and he’d kissed him. 

He’d never been sure, afterwards, why that had been his first response - the gratitude had been so overwhelming, and he’d been light-headed and dizzy enough that it was possible he’d been slightly insane for a moment there. What mattered was that Nick let him; brought both hands up to cup his face and they’d snogged right there on the floor, the strip lights buzzing over their heads.

Jamie’s always hated losing control and those panic attacks are the worst kind of losing it, but giving it up to Nick is surprisingly easy. Handing himself over and silently saying ‘please look after me for a while’ is simple, and it works, and Nick never takes the piss out of him for needing it.

“Forget it all for now, okay?” Nick tells him, his hands working on the buttons of Jamie’s shirt. “You’ve got all evening and all night to yourself, now, just me being quiet as a mouse next to you. And then day off tomorrow, and if you want you can just bury your head under the covers and sleep all day.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, closing his eyes at the thought of all that peace. He lets his head thump back against the wall as Nick’s broad, warm hands slide inside his open shirt and mould to the curve of his ribcage. “God.”

Those hands never fail to turn him on. There’s no pretending that Nick’s a lass; he’s got stubble and hair on his chest and strong fingers and a seriously deep voice. Not to mention the obvious.

Jamie’s not sure why none of that matters, but it doesn’t; never has. 

“Jaym,” Nick rumbles under his ear, the fingers of his left hand spidering up over the ridges of Jamie’s ribs. “C’n I kiss you?”

Jamie buries a hand in Nick’s hair and tilts his head down to mumble against his temple, “Mate, how many times?”

Nick huffs a laugh as he lifts his head, curling his other hand around the back of Jamie’s neck. “I still expect you to sock me in the jaw every time.”

“Why, ‘cause I’m such a bloody caveman?”

“‘Cause you’re... _you_. I always thought you were straight as an arrow, no messing.”

“No one is, they reckon, don’t they?”

“So they say,” Nick agrees, gaze wandering from Jamie’s eyes to his mouth, and back up again. “We don’t have to, though, y’know, if you’re just doing it - “

Jamie cuts him off with a kiss, just pressing soft and warm up against him and feeling the moment when he relaxes in one rush of relief.

“ - for me…” Nick finishes faintly when they pull apart, eyes closed.

“Look, Mal...I don’t just want you for your cock, alright? I like snogging you. You’re good at it. _We’re_ good at it. So fuck all that it’s not gay if you don’t kiss bollocks. I don’t care what I am.”

Nick’s smile, which had crept out from the very first sentence, goes all broad and soft and fond with amusement, and Jamie has to look down for a moment, annoyed at his own embarrassment. By the time he’s ready to lift his head, Nick’s kissing him again, his hands heading for Jamie’s belt.

They’re so erotic, those sounds, the clink of his buckle, the sibilant shhh of leather through metal. Nick’s fingers tug and manipulate, buttons and zip, and then his hand’s brushing down past Jamie’s belly and touching him through his boxers, palm hot against his cock. If he really thinks about it, really concentrates, he can feel Nick’s pulse in his wrist where it’s pressed flat against his abdomen, quick and heavy.

He’s fucked - _proper_ fucked - Nick before, twice. Just the memory of being deep inside him never fails to make him shiver a little, the intensity of it so clear. It’s not that easy, though, fucking a bloke, they’d discovered. The first time it’d taken them ages, partly just to get Nick to a point where he could take more than a couple of fingers without tensing up, and partly to get Jamie to the point where he believed he could do it without hurting him at all.

That’s why they don’t take it that far, usually, even though _god_ was it worth the wait.

Jamie was a little terrified by how it made him feel, though. With Nick’s body tensing around him, so close Jamie could feel the goose pimples rise on his bare skin, it was difficult not to feel utterly connected. Watching him bite his lip, hearing and feeling him groan, tasting the salt of sweat, Jamie had felt dangerously close.

“God, you’re hard,” Nick says softly, cutting into Jamie’s thoughts, their foreheads pressed together as he looks down between their bodies.

Jamie grunts something in agreement and comes to life suddenly, reaching out to grab the hem of Nick’s t-shirt and hoodie, tugging and moving so he can get them over his head, breathing hard to see them muss his curls in their wake. Nick just stands and lets Jamie attack his belt, fingers tugging hard enough at the leather to almost pull him off balance.

Jamie leans in and kisses him again, hard and hungry, ripping open the buttons of Nick’s jeans and sliding his hands under the waistband to grab his hips, thumbs pressing hard under the juts of bone.

One of Nick’s hands grabs the collar of Jamie’s shirt at his nape and tugs, yanking it down until Jamie has to pull his hands around behind his back, the cuffs getting stuck around his wrists. Nick takes the opportunity to push him back up against the wall, kissing him with enough lewd intent to make Jamie moan with appreciation, just a low sound in his throat.

“Off,” he mumbles against Nick’s lips, squirming against the ties around his wrists. “ _Off_.”

Nick’s arms wind around him, trapping him even more for a moment as he thumbs the tiny cuff buttons open blindly, the cotton flapping free against Jamie’s palms as the whole shirt drops and pools on the floor.

Nick pulls back just a little to stare at him, eyes devouring, and Jamie lets him for a few seconds before the attention makes him cringe and he plants both hands on Nick’s chest, walking him backwards towards the bed, leaning in to kiss him again just to block out that green gaze. The backs of Nick’s calves hit the end of the bed and he drops down to sit, eyes lifting to meet Jamie’s with such a devilish lack of innocence it makes the hairs on Jamie’s arms stand up. Nick lowers his gaze, leans in to kiss just below his navel, tongue sliding flat across his skin towards his hipbone, where he bites down for just a second before sucking, his mouth so hot and wet. Jamie buries a hand in his hair, tipping his head back and breathing in deeply to try and calm himself down. Bringing a hand up and curling it around Jamie’s side, Nick spreads his warm, calloused fingers wide, making Jamie feel weirdly small and weirdly vulnerable.

The other hand comes up and Nick’s thumbs hook under his waistband, and Jamie grabs his wrists before he can tug, the warm gusts of Nick’s breath low against his belly turning him on beyond belief. He knows that if Nick gets his mouth on him it’ll all be over and he can’t bear that; needs more, despite the bliss he knows he’s turning down.

He gets a knee up on the bed, leaning down and in and nudging Nick into another hot, open mouthed kiss. “Up,” he orders, a breath against Nick’s lips, curling his fingers under jeans and boxers and jerking his head up towards the pillows. “Up,” he echoes, and drags them down and off as Nick does as he’s told, crawling back up the bed, leaning back on his hands. Jamie drops everything on the floor, quickly shucking off and stepping out of his own and crawling on hands and knees onto the bed, finding Nick’s mouth again before he can make Jamie blush with that hungry stare.

He kneels between Nick’s pulled up knees, sliding both hands onto his hips and holding him, smiling against his lips when Nick hooks an ankle around the back of his thigh and tries to tip him forwards. Nick smiles too and Jamie pulls back enough to look at him, because he likes that smile, loves how warm and genuine it is.

He slides both hands under Nick’s neck and drops down to his elbows, pressing an open, breathy kiss to his jaw as he lowers his hips in a slow, teasing undulation that sets every nerve on fire. Nick’s hands spread wide across his back and he pushes up, his cock sliding against the groove of Jamie’s hip, making Jamie bite his lip to feel the hot, wet streak burning his skin. He drops his whole body down slowly, burying his face against Nick’s throat and giving a long, drawn-out thrust against him, dragging in a ragged breath to feel Nick’s cock pressed hard and hot against his, trapped between the heaving, sweat-damp skin of their bellies. He lies still and pants softly for a long moment, Nick’s hair tickling his nose with the scent of something sweet. Raspberries, he thinks, maybe, absently, only a very small part of his brain thinking clearly as he feels one of Nick’s legs slide over his, his hips lifting up as much as they can off the bed and pushing them together with a tiny, unbearable amount of friction. 

Nick’s hands are still stroking over his back, over the sliding edges of his shoulder blades, down over his arse and thighs, around to brush knuckles against his ribs. It’s comfort without words, as though Nick’s checking him over, or just silently asking that he’s okay. Jamie’s heart throbs thick and fast in his chest and he lifts his head to kiss him, soft and lingering, answering in his own silent way. 

He hopes that he’ll be able to return the favour one day, that he’ll be there when Nick needs him. He hopes that maybe he already is, and he just doesn’t know it. 

He sits back on his heels and crooks a finger, wrapping the other hand around himself in a way that has Nick’s gaze dropping like a stone to watch. “Come ‘ere,” he says, licking his lower lip with a swipe of his tongue. “Up on your knees.” 

Nick looks back up at him in question for a moment, pushing himself up and then folding his knees back under him, kneeling there in front of Jamie expectantly. Jamie shifts closer, as close as he can get, curling his hand around both of them and pressing the barest of kisses to Nick’s lips as they both take a quick breath. Jamie slips his tongue into Nick’s mouth and kisses him hot and dirty, giving a little thrust of his hips, glad he’s not able to let out the whimper that threatens. 

It’s weird, but it still seems sort of taboo having sex with a boy; not because he doesn’t think he should but more because no one knows they do it. And that ‘dirty little secret’, combined with the first moment he gets to rub his cock up against another one, makes heat and excitement swirl low in Jamie’s belly every time. Sometimes he wonders about the other two, imagines them being part of it, wonders whether he’d like to see Matt and Alex mirroring them. He imagines Nick with Alex, how Nick’s hands would look on Alex’s tiny hips. He imagines Nick with Matt, how they’d probably joke their way through it, happy and gentle with each other. He imagines all three of them advancing on him…

And it’ll never happen. It’ll never happen because, even if Matt and Alex do help each other out every now and then, what’re the chances any of them would have the bottle to ask each other about it?

It’s all in his head, anyway, just daydreams to pass the time away. Not even necessary when he’s got the real thing in front of him.

Nick crooks a finger under his chin and tips his head up, and Jamie finds himself looking deeply into his eyes, close and hazy with arousal. He finds he doesn’t mind, suddenly, the usual urge to glance away never coming, the fascinating irises holding his own enough to glue him to the spot. 

“Your eyes are gorgeous,” Nick says quietly, earnestly, apparently on the same wavelength. “Lovely,” he says, even softer, his hand cupping Jamie’s cheek, his thumb brushing carefully under Jamie’s left eye. 

Jamie shakes his head and Nick smiles just a little at his discomfort, eyes creasing at the corners, his unblinking gaze making Jamie feel hot and flushed. 

He’s always been surprised by how intimate things get in these close encounters. They could just sit side by side and wank each other off without looking at each other, but instead they always end up pressed bodily against each other, making eye contact, breathing each other’s breath, swapping spit and all that good stuff. Even when they’d fucked properly they’d done it face to face, romantic sods that they were. Seeing Nick’s face, though, and watching his eyes, that’s all part of the whole thing for Jamie. That’s all part of what calms him down, what grounds him again. If it was just the fucking, then anyone would do, wouldn’t they? 

But they won’t.

He presses their cheeks together, breathing in slowly before murmuring against Nick’s ear, “You smell like raspberries, mate.” 

Nick laughs a little, sliding a hand slowly down the curve of Jamie’s spine. “Al let me borrow his shampoo.” 

Jamie bites his lip, taking in another lungful before pulling back enough to look at him in curiosity. “It’s Al’s?”

Nick’s smile turns into a faintly knowing smirk as his hand reaches Jamie’s arse. “Yeah. Like that, do you?” 

Jamie’s about to scowl at him, maybe prod him viciously in the ribs, when he leans in close again and murmurs in Jamie’s ear, “Me too.” 

Fuck. Jamie’s body gives an involuntary little jerk against Nick’s and he knows it won’t be long, now, waves of anticipatory pleasure dancing in his stomach. He nudges Nick’s head to the side and kisses him again, just to silence him in case any more revelations happen to push him over the edge. 

Their sex tends to be pretty quiet on the whole, which Jamie appreciates. He’s never been much good at dirty talk, except when he’s hammered, but the rest of the time he just finds it a bit embarrassing. Nick doesn’t do much of it either (except when he’s hammered), but he does make the occasional gasp or breathy groan or sigh or curse, all of which Jamie likes. That deep voice, much deeper than his own, is sometimes raw after a night out in loud clubs, or after singing back-up for the first time in a while, and when it goes like that - all soft and gravelly - it’s like a secret weapon. Jamie’s not sure how anyone deals with it who doesn’t get to shag him. 

His hand’s hot and slick now, and all Jamie has to do is think about what they’re doing, and how no one else knows they’re doing it, and it’s so hot when Nick thrusts against him, the fingers of his left hand digging in under Jamie’s shoulder blade. 

“Mal,” he pants, burying a hand at the back of Nick’s head and twisting dark curls tightly around his fingers, getting a guttural sound of pleasure in return. “Mal,” he says again softly, then changes his mind and mouths “ _Nick_ ” against his shoulder instead, because Mal is what they call him day in day out, when he’s doing soundcheck or playing computer games or making cups of tea, but Nick is what Jamie feels he should call him when he’s naked and hard against him and so fucking sexy. 

He brings that hand back down between them, presses it flat to the side of Nick’s navel where that big artery runs down from your heart, the thick, heavy swell of it against Jamie’s hand thudding in time to the pulsing throb of his cock. 

“‘m gonna come,” he pants, relieved when Nick makes a groaning sound of agreement against his throat.

He loves this bit, he has to admit. The first time they’d done anything he’d thought that, if he managed to deal with someone else’s hard cock, the spunk was bound to gross him out at least. But it didn’t. It doesn’t. He loves it, knowing he’s caused it, feeling it hit his palm or his belly or his chest, hot and slick. 

Nick’s hips thrust hard against his suddenly and he says Jamie’s name as he comes, his voice low and sandpaper raw, his arm locking around Jamie’s neck, his chest heaving, his breaths hot and erratic against Jamie’s ear, and it’s too much, too much, and all Jamie can do is drop his head onto Nick’s shoulder and let go, free hand gripping the top of his left arm hard as he comes too, the other pulling away as he just ruts up against Nick’s hip, sliding through the hot mess they’ve made together. 

He makes this sound, this involuntary broken groan, swallowing it down past a throat that’s dry from panting, his fingers slipping against Nick’s damp skin. He’s left red fingertip marks around his arm, knows they’ll be bruises by the morning, but Nick doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care.

They stay kneeling there for a long few moments before Jamie’s dead weight against him has Nick slumping backwards, getting his legs out from under himself as he winds his arms around Jamie’s middle and brings him toppling down too. He grunts softly as their bodies clash, Jamie giving one, two last lazy, exhausted pushes of his hips, wringing out every last little aftershock of pleasure. 

They pant and feel the hammering of their hearts through each other’s ribs, skin sweat-slick and sticking together between them. Jamie tries to move, knowing he must be heavy, but Nick’s arms hold him there for a long, long moment before letting him go. Jamie slides half-on, half-off him, an arm and a leg slung over him, his cheek against Nick’s shoulder, and he stays like that for as long as he can until the heat between them gets too much and he has to roll over onto his back, flinging an arm out to the side and closing his eyes as cool cotton sheets cling to his back. 

"Fuck," he utters breathlessly, slinging his other arm over his face. "Fuck, I needed that."

Nick doesn't answer, but Jamie can practically _hear_ him smiling. As he stares up at the whiter than white ceiling, his thoughts turn, not the first time, to what he'd do if he had to do all of this alone, if he didn't have the three of them with him. It's a though that always hurts, like a thump to the chest, a bruising warning. He turns over again, even though he's hot and sticky and the sheets are wrapping around his feet, just so he can press a smacker of a kiss to Nick's temple, fingers brushing the other side of his face softly.

"Mal,” he mumbles against his hairline, closing his eyes as a big hand curves around the back of his head. 

“Mmmm?” is the soft, dazed reply. 

“Thanks, mate.”

There’s comfortable silence for a while longer, until Jamie feels Nick’s body rise and fall with a heavy sigh.

“Jamie?” he says eventually, in that low, warm voice.

“Yeah?”

Nick's fingers rub the base of his skull gently in a way that makes Jamie see a flash of colour behind his eyelids.

“Don’t be daft.” 

Heart rate slowing, brain blissfully quiet, Jamie holds on. And he smiles.


End file.
